


Someone to Watch Over Me

by beautifullyheeled



Series: The Halved Compass [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John-centric, M/M, Pining John, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/pseuds/beautifullyheeled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The warm aged leather held him as he sipped at his whiskey; the weight of two fingers worth of amber anesthetic inside the tumbler a comfort in his hand. The first one had been fast and dirty. A straight shot. Burned him straight through; better than feeling the stone chill that had settled near his heart. His thoughts were scattered at best as 'Manhattan' played, the soft dulcet tones of the singer crooning of avenues and push-carts and the slow pace of lovers. How, in the end, her heart was with her city. As it had been with Sherlock...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone to Watch Over Me

The warm aged leather held him as he sipped at his whiskey; the weight of two fingers worth of amber anesthetic inside the tumbler a comfort in his hand. The first one had been fast and dirty. A straight shot. Burned him straight through; better than feeling the stone chill that had settled near his heart. His thoughts were scattered at best as 'Manhattan' played, the soft dulcet tones of the singer crooning of avenues and push-carts and the slow pace of lovers. How, in the end, her heart was with her city. As it had been with Sherlock. 

Maybe it still was, maybe his heart had just expanded to allow for possibility. 

He'd almost not gotten the chance to ask when he'd been shot. Nearly lost him at least twice. It was- and then to move through that- to move back to his room to care for him, his friend. What right did he have to call himself Sherlock's friend at that point. Abandoned him. Allowed him to fall- to get high for the first time in years- years. God, he was a right fuck up. That first night he'd slipped into Sherlock's bed. Slipped into him. Half-dressed, bed clothes still on. Rucked up shirts. Pulled loose bottoms, pressed low on their thighs. Sherlock's breath caught in a near subsonic groan. Desperation; no words only air between them. He the big spoon. 

They'd not talked about it, only snugged tight after. It was the first time he felt Sherlock cry. The salty moisture wetting his arm, his chest. He swore then that he'd not leave again.

Yet, he had. 

A third bullet ripped through his life. It wasn't for Mary, he knew that. It was for him. A chance to live a life he'd wanted when he was in med school; just a lad. It wasn't what he wanted anymore. She knew it. She was bored as well. They didn't hide from one another; he no longer felt the need. She was with David. Thought he was duped. How she continued to underestimated him- he'd just walked toward the one love in his life. Watched the emotion pull through Sherlock's mostly closed body language as he asked about where and when and the unspoken if. They both knew. He wanted nothing more than to get on that plane and go to whatever Hell Sherlock had been exiled to. 

Six months.

Tonight was just that. 

His sleeves rolled, his feet bare, the flat was quiet other than the ambient hum that any other home had, as if any moment Sherlock would be there. It waited for him. 

John would wait, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Blossom Dearie has a soft tucked away spot in John's heart, as well as my own. Title and 'Manhattan' after her renditions.


End file.
